The Rose And Crown
by Never Stop Believing in Love
Summary: After losing contact with one another for a few years Grace is surprised in more ways than one when Boyd finally decides to call. Post Waterloo. Boyd & Grace
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the copyright for Waking the dead or its characters – all rights belong to the BBC**

**Content: Boyd and Grace **

**Rating: K**

**Thank you for taking the time to read this fic. Sending massive *hugs* to the OHT who are cracking friends – sorry life has been a little hectic for me lately. Here's to special times in London very soon xx Special thanks to Joodiff for doing what Joodiff does so incredibly well! Hope you all enjoy!**

**The Rose and Crown**

The telephone number flashing on my phone and the corresponding name are familiar. Heartbreakingly so. I allow it to ring a little longer than usual, mostly due to surprise, or shock, I can't quite decide which.

The shrill of the continuing tone pierces through my reverie prompting me to tentatively push the accept button.

"Hello," I answer weakly.

"Hi, Grace; it's Boyd."

I take a steadying breath. Peter Boyd. He doesn't need to introduce himself; I could pick out his distinctive voice in a gabbling crowd of hundreds having spent most of the previous decade listening to him. I smile against the handset. If you'd asked me five years ago if I would miss the gruff sound of his voice I would have laughed, probably in your face. The man who almost daily found a reason to yell, more often than not at me, has successfully made my pulse race once again just by finally deciding to telephone. It's been too long since I heard his voice.

"Hi, Boyd, this is a surprise; everything okay?" I attempt to keep my tone light and to hide my joy at speaking to him again. It took me a long time to adapt to not having Boyd constantly in my life. It was a wrench. I mean, how do you go from spending virtually every day with someone, knowing how they think and feel to suddenly having a massive void in your life where they once were. It happened overnight. One day we were tying up a case, the next it was over. Done. Finito. I think it took me longer to adapt than the rest of the team. Maybe it was an age thing, or just the simple fact that I despise change. I did adapt eventually, of course, but that's not to say that I liked it. It was a painful journey to say the least.

"Hmm, yea I'm fine," he replies. "You alright?"

"Yes; yes, I'm very well thank you."

"Good. Listen, the reason I'm calling is I wondered if you were free to meet up this afternoon?"

His invitation startles me. It's been two and a half years since we've seen one another. My heart skips as I answer. "Erm, yea, I can be. What time were you thinking?"

"Around noon, Rose and Crown?"

"Okay, I look forward to it."

"See you later then," he says and hangs up.

I stare inanely at my phone long after he's rung off. Boyd wants to have lunch with me. It's exciting and strangely terrifying. We've been friends for many years, good friends for a lot of them. When he moved on from CCU it felt like the right time for me to go too, so I resigned my post and semi-retired. Of course we both promised that we'd stay in touch but neither of us made the effort, so one week ran into another, and before I knew it over two years had passed.

It was hard, in the beginning. I used to think about him almost incessantly; it's difficult to shake a man like Boyd out of your hair. I found myself getting annoyed at him for not contacting me. Told myself that he obviously didn't care for me as much as I did for him when I was so easily forgotten. It ate away at me, exposing the insecurity I'd fought so hard to hide. So I forced myself to forget him and move on. On the whole I've done exactly that and it's very rarely that I think of Peter Boyd now.

The Rose and Crown on Park Lane is a place we both know well having shared many lunch times sampling their menu and laughing at how out of place this old traditional English pub looks in upmarket Mayfair. We'd found it quite by accident one day while out on a case, and preferred it over our local that was filled with other jaded coppers constantly complaining about something or other. Here we were anonymous, just another late middle-aged couple enjoying lunch together. I haven't been back here since the CCU days, but it hasn't changed a bit, including the bar staff.

"Hi Jill!" I smile fondly at the young blonde-haired barmaid behind the counter. "You're still here I see." I'm relieved to see a friendly face. I've been so nervous about this meeting since Boyd called and have already changed my outfit three times before finally deciding on a flattering navy skirt and blouse.

It takes a few moments for Jill to recognise me but as she does she returns my smile. "How are you? And where've you been? It's been ages since you've been in."

"I retired a few years ago..."

"Aww, really? Well it looks like it's agreeing with you. You look amazing."

"You're very kind."

"It's true. You're a great advertisement for retirement. And what about the tall handsome bloke you used to come in here with? He hasn't been around either."

"Boyd? He's working in security as far as I know; we kinda lost touch. Actually it's him that I'm meeting this afternoon."

"And you choose this place for your reunion, that's so cool. It really is great to see you again; can I get you a drink?"

I don't normally drink this early in the afternoon unless the sun is particularly hot and I'm relaxing in the garden with a good book and no plans for the rest of the day, but today I definitely need alcohol to calm the unexplained jitters in my stomach.

"Chablis, please; a large glass."

Jill nods knowingly and retrieves a chilled bottle from the fridge beneath the bar. I watch as she pours the liquid into the glass and ponder why Boyd has chosen to call now.

It's just like him to ring out of the blue and expect me to drop everything to meet him – and how right he is. No matter how venomously I deny it, it's been that way for as long as I have known him. He calls, I run. I'm so weak.

Glass of wine in hand, I find a table in the corner and wait. The decor of the old place hasn't changed much either. The pub itself dates back over four hundred years and I imagine that when refurbishing they tried to keep with the feel of the past centuries which has resulted in dark woods and reds all around the place. I like it. It's familiar and reminds me of fond times.

I take my mobile phone out of my bag and place it on the table. Boyd was always a stickler for being on time when it involved him waiting, but he didn't apply the same rules when he was the one running late – which in my experience was far more often than he would admit to. So I sip my wine and wait.

The early afternoon sunlight cascades through the window in heavenly beams highlighting the small particles of dust in the air. I watch as they dance freely, swirling this way and that in the atmosphere. The sun is warm on my face, winter finally giving way to the fullness of spring. I consider tidying the borders of my small garden later in the afternoon should the weather hold. It's supposed to be a nice weekend, if the weatherman is to be believed. Lost in my plans I don't hear him approach.

"Hello, Grace."

My heart immediately skips a beat before I even turn my head towards him. His voice so familiar it warms my soul even more than the May sun. I wallow in the moment a little longer than I should before lifting my eyes to meet his but as I do I feel my mouth involuntarily drop open at his appearance.

"Hi, Boyd," I finally manage when the power of speech returns to me. "...It's good to see you." I rise from my seat to greet him and can feel my skin redden as he bends to gently brush a swift kiss against my cheek before motioning me to sit again.

I'm glad of the firmness of the seat beneath me as my legs appear to be devoid of strength and full of nervous tension. Still I continue to appraise him. He looks well; very well in fact. His hair, completely silver, is a little longer than it was when I last saw him, but it is immaculately styled and the goatee beard I loved so much has also made a reappearance, trimmed and evenly framing his face beautifully. But it is how he is dressed that I find most intriguing.

"You look well," he says as he sits, apparently oblivious to my curiosity. "Obviously time away from me has given you a new lease of life."

I study his face carefully wondering if he is merely opening with banal pleasantries or is genuinely being serious. That's the thing with Boyd, when it came to compliments paid to me I was never quite sure.

"Thank you," I offer in reply, "you're looking well yourself... if not a little over dressed, even by Mayfair's standards."

I smile, amused as he drops his head and looks down towards his clothing, for Peter Boyd has arrived at the Rose and Crown pub dressed in a dark grey morning suit complete with cravat. His gaze returns to me and I wait for an explanation which he offers quite easily.

"I'm supposed to be getting married today..."

Tbc …


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own the copyright for Waking the dead or its characters – all rights belong to the BBC**

**Content: Boyd and Grace **

**Rating: K**

**The Rose And Crown cont...**

Out of every scenario I had imagined during the last few hours - and there were many - Boyd getting married had not been one of them. I let the news sink in, disturbed at the knot forming in my stomach on hearing his explanation. Aware that I need to say something... anything, I meekly offer, "Congratulations, that's great news."

Great news? My mind is tumbling over the words which I can't seem to reconcile within myself. My mouth may have offered the expected response, but my heart is finding it hard to match the sentiments.

Boyd is not the marrying kind; at least I always thought he wasn't. He tried it once, with Mary, many years ago and always swore blind he would never repeat the experience having learnt from his mistake. I quickly discovered that his flippant 'of the cuff' remarks were only surface deep and there was a much darker reason for his reticence. Essentially Boyd blamed himself for the breakdown of his marriage and subsequently for messing up his son's life so much he went completely of the rails. Maybe this means he has now finally made peace with his demons?

"Thanks," he says smiling politely.

"So, come on then, who's the lucky lady?"

"Carol."

"Carol ...?"

"Jeffries."

Honestly, it's like getting blood out of a stone. Anyone would think I was torturing the man and he could only give one word answers because of the severe duress. I wonder briefly if this seems like the normal behaviour of someone on what is supposed to be the happiest day of their life before instantly dismissing the thought. This is Boyd, after all.

"So where did you meet this Carol Jeffries then?"

"She's the sister of a mate from work. He had a birthday party and she was there, we hit it off."

"Seemingly so," I reply. "I'm glad that you are happy."

There is something in the way he hesitates that sparks my intrigue. A brief glimpse of doubt flits across his eyes as silently he stares at me.

"You are, happy, aren't you?" I hear myself question.

Boyd inhales deeply before gruffly clearing his throat. "I thought so, yes."

I shrug. "So what's changed?"

"I lay wide awake the entire night last night trying to figure out exactly that."

"And what did you conclude?"

"That I needed to speak to you."

"I'm not your shrink, Boyd, I can't tell you what to do!"

"Well you spent the best part of a decade trying to..."

"That's unfair, and untrue! Anyway, I haven't seen you in over two years. I've given up trying to work out what goes on in that head of yours!"

"You always know, Grace," he answers, his voice dropping to no more than a whisper.

I prided myself for many years that I knew Boyd better than anyone else, well inasmuch as anyone could know Boyd. No-one could deny that we had a special relationship, but even I was often caught off guard by his inherent unpredictability. Peter Boyd always did exactly what Peter Boyd wanted to do.

I can feel his eyes fixed on me and know that this is one of those 'off guard' moments. Boyd has completely blindsided me, both with the announcement of his imminent wedding and now with trying to determine exactly what he's expecting me to say. If truth be known I'm having trouble wading through my own emotions without having to counsel Boyd through his. A shadow of deep sadness has embraced me and I'm not entirely sure why.

I decide to go straight for the big money question. "Do you love her?"

"I love the idea of her..."

"Not the same, Boyd," I say a little too defensive of a woman I've never met.

"She's been good for me. After leaving the Met I was a little... lost. It took me a while to settle into the routine of civilian life, meeting Carol helped me normalise things."

"And that's a good thing, but are you in love with her?"

He continues on pointedly ignoring my question. "I didn't intend to propose you know, it kinda just tumbled out. Next thing I know I'm talking churches and venues."

I laugh lightly at his admission. It was so Boyd. Speak first, think later.

"So this is not what you want?"

"I didn't say that..." he shoots back tersely.

I feel my annoyance at him rise. It's as familiar as it is infuriating. "And just what are you saying, Boyd, because I'm completely lost. I don't know what you expect me to say or do. Are you wanting me to tell you if you should marry Carol or not, because quite frankly I can't, and _won't_, do that!"

Apparently totally unaware of my frustration he continued. "Carol's a lovely lady, she's made me happier than I've been in years."

"But..."

He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. "But... I'm not sure it's enough."

"Oh for heaven's sake, Boyd," I reply reaching for my bag before getting to my feet, "... if you don't know the answer to that by now then I can't help you!"

He stares at me. "Sit down, Grace... please."

There is something in his eyes that convinces me to take my seat again. We sit in stony silence for a few moments before he speaks again. "Where did it all go wrong?"

"Huh?"

"For us. Where did it all go wrong?"

My mind darts frantically attempting to interpret his words. "I wasn't aware that it had gone wrong..."

"Aw, come on, that's complete bull and you know it. We were close, really close at one point..." His voice falls away. "I mean, how many great lunches did we spend in here, huh? Just you and me. We didn't even tell the rest of the team about this place, afraid they might gate-crash our little haven."

I smile at the memory. The Rose and Crown, had he chosen this place deliberately? No, I'm overthinking it; Boyd's not at all sentimental.

"Life moves on and has a cruel way of changing things."

His eyes narrow questioningly. "And we changed?"

"I think so."

Boyd ponders my reply for a moment before answering, "I disagree. It never changed for me, Grace. I just couldn't find the capacity to deal with everything, not in the way you wanted me to."

"And what way was that?"

"With words. I've never been good at expressing myself, especially the important things in life."

"Such as Luke's death?"

"Yea," he answers quietly, "amongst other things."

I know just how much Luke's death affected him. Losing your son is difficult enough but when the circumstances were so terrible it's completely devastating. If I'm honest about pin-pointing a time when our relationship started to change I think it was during that period. Of course it was completely understandable. He had lost his son and I can't imagine ever suffering so much pain, but in his grief he completely shut me out of his life. His mood became much darker as he developed a devil-may-care attitude. The more I tried to help the more he resented it and pushed me away until finally I had to stop trying to protect myself. It was only when I had the cancer scare that we reached equilibrium again.

"We all deal with things differently."

"But not all make such a monumental mess of it."

"You're getting married today, Boyd, obviously it hasn't all been bad."

"Yea, to the wrong bloody woman."

I still, lifting my eyes to study his face. It's completely unreadable.

"Excuse me?"

He shrugs. "I'm marrying the wrong woman, Grace..."

Tbc …


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own the copyright for Waking the dead or its characters – all rights belong to the BBC**

**Content: Boyd and Grace **

**Rating: K**

**Hey everyone, thank you for continuing to read and for all the reviews. I so appreciate it and am glad you have enjoyed this fic. To the lovely OHT ... one day the drinks will be on me in the Rose and Crown ;) *hugs* xx**

**The Rose And Crown cont...**

His admission falls around me and I shake my head in confusion. "And who should you be marrying, then?" I ask bewildered.

Boyd leans back in his chair as he speaks, "You can be very obtuse sometimes, Grace, you know that don't you?"

"_I_ can be obtuse? It's _you_ that isn't making any sense! You call me out of the blue, tell me you're getting married today but you're marrying the wrong women. What do you expect me to say?"

Immediately I detect a change in the atmosphere. Instead of the colossal loss of patience that I expect, Boyd instead sits forward and gently asks...

"Can you honestly tell me you've never felt it? Never wondered?"

My heart begins to race as I try to decipher his words. Surely I have to be misinterpreting his intention, Boyd cannot be implying what I think he is. I try to focus but my mind is racing in a million different directions.

How do I answer? Truthfully? Should I tell him there was a period of my life - a very _long_ period of my life - when I couldn't think of anything else but him. Of us. Or how, even now years later, in the lonely evenings my mind drifts of its own accord to memories of him.

"Boyd..." I offer weakly.

"Grace, don't," he warns. "Don't even try to dodge this or talk around the issue. We're too old to piss around and I can't wait for weeks for an answer. A simple yes or no."

I feel my throat closing, devoid of all moisture. It takes real effort to push the words from my voice box.

"Yes," I hear myself quietly admit, "I've wondered."

His face relaxes a little and he smiles gently at me. "I lay awake last night wondering. Dreaming. At one point you know, years ago, I was convinced we'd eventually end up together."

"Really?"

"Hmm. You were closer to me than anyone else in my life. I looked forward to the time we spent together and our lunchtimes here." Boyd glances around the old bar.

"I enjoyed those times too," I answer honestly. "But why wait until now to tell me, Boyd?"

Again he shrugs. "Dunknow. I thought I was over it and tried to convince myself that I was in love with Carol, but it all just seemed... wrong. I knew that I couldn't marry her without at least speaking to you."

"Are you still going ahead with it?"

"That depends."

"On...?"

"Whether or not you tell me that there could be a chance for us."

Not for the first time today I feel my irritation rising. I spent years of my life wishing Boyd would declare feelings for me, and now that he has I feel compelled to defend his fiancée.

"You can't possibly marry someone you're not in love with, Boyd. It's not fair... on anyone!"

"I didn't say I didn't love her. I just don't love her as much as I love you."

His admission is easy and almost anti-climactic but it still results in my heart pounding against my chest. I try to still the noise within me and regain control.

"So, where do we go from here?" I ask, unconvinced I am ready to know the answer.

"Up to you. But I don't want to regret not trying, Grace."

"You know that we're bad for each other don't you?"

His eyes glint mischievously. "Oh yes, I'm very well aware of that fact... So what do you say?"

"I dunknow, Boyd. It's been a long time..."

"Frig sake, Grace give a man a break here, huh? Do you, or have you ever had feelings for me?"

"You know I do."

"Good, so then say that we can at least try to make it work between us..."

I study his face intently and know what I must do. I feel sad for Carol, for I have no doubt she is besotted by this charismatic, passionate man sitting opposite me. Somewhere in some part of London she is busy getting ready to marry the man of her dreams and is ridiculously happy. How can I rob her of that? I'm not the kind of woman who tramples all over the happiness of another to get what she wants. I abhor the very thought.

But I must.

You see, Carol may have held Boyd for a year or two but I have held him for a lifetime. We have shared so much joy and pain that my heart is daring me to do it again. Oh, I'm not under any illusion that it won't be tough at times and I know we will want to kill one another before the month is out, but even armed with that knowledge I still want this. I still want _him_.

I take a long, deep cleansing breath and can feel the smile pulling on my face as my countenance echoes my decision. Nodding slowly I say, "I'd very much like to try..."

fin

Page **2** of **2**


End file.
